Falling to Pieces
by singingstarryknights
Summary: The Sailor and the Nurse. Spoilers for Sleight out of Hand. An ongoing response to the trainwreck that is Danny and Lindsay.
1. Chapter 1

Falling to Pieces 

…

The Fight Begins.

…

_A trainwreck, from one broken heart to one shaken soul. Danny makes the greatest of gestures. Now all she has to do is make the greatest leap of faith._

…

_Spoilers for "Silent Night"_

…

Lindsay Monroe seeped the tea bag into a mug of hot water, biting her lip and desperately trying to reign in her composure. Not that it really mattered. She was home. She sighed at the news, reaching over to flick the image off her screen just as she saw the friendly scene in the Bronx that she had run away from come on, the headline flashing a phrase of insensitivity, "Desperate Father Seeks Time with his Daughter for Christmas." She frowned at the blank set, settling back into the softness of her couch, pulling her feet beneath her. She'd worked so hard at trying to forget, and today, it had just been too much. Too similar. Déjà vu.

She'd just taken her first sip when there was a harsh banging on the door of her apartment, startling her. Ignoring it simply would not work, as the rapping came again, a moment later. Groaning, she untangled herself from the cushions, and stood, setting her steaming mug on her coffee table and making her way to the door. She stood up on her tip toes, peering through the peephole, wincing at the familiar head of hair she saw. Danny was shifting his weight uneasily on the other side of her door, chewing his lip, like he was going to implode.

Fantastic.

She unlatched the lock, and opened the door slowly, shooting him a quizzical expression.

"Look, I got somethin' to say." She'd stepped aside to let him in before she realized it, taking in a deep breath as he turned on his heel, watching her close the door.

"Don't you have a hot case?"

"Wrapped it." He waved dismissively, momentarily distracted as she ran her hand through her hair, taking in, for the first time, her worn in jeans and a weathered sweatshirt, faded lettering across the front, claiming state championship in some mountain something that he was sure he should know about. Focus, Messer. "Don't change the subject. I got somethin' I gotta lay out." She shifted her weight, almost nervously, and he felt a burn of panic.

Maybe this was what his brother-in-law had droned on about when he'd proposed.

"Danny, I don't want to talk about it-"

"No, wait, I don't want to talk about it either. I don't want you to talk. I'll talk. You listen, okay?" He put his hands up before him easily, his expression compassionate, his words soft. There was a moment where the silence hung between them, and he sensed her hesitancy sharply. "Ok, I'm going to talk." She broke into an amused smile, and crossed her arms over her chest.

"So talk."

"This is all I am, Linds. This is all I've got." He held his hands out before him, palms up, extending them toward her only just. She glanced at the rough of his skin before returning her eyes to his, frowning, confused.

"Dan-"

"Lemme get this out, Montana." He dropped his gaze to his hands, balling his fingers into gentle fists, running his thumbs over his knuckles, exhaling a heavy breath before opening his hands again, and fixing her with a desperate stare, his eyes shining dully behind his elegant frames with tears he wasn't afraid to let fall. "I'm not askin' anything, you won't answer me anyway. All I wanted to say was that I'm here, now, and I got more than a little experience with fighting the past. Take it, leave it, lemme say, without agenda, all I can offer is a place to fit your hand in mine. When everything falls to pieces, you can hold on to me."

………

A/N: I'm remedying the lack of DannyLindsay interaction. This is a WIP, but a WIP that I will faithfully update each week, in response to whatever train wreck Jerry throws us. If there's one thing both Danny and I know for absolute certain, it's that sometimes you just can't physically give up. It never occurred to me to give up on the Red Sox. The thought of giving up on Lindsay won't even cross his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

The Battle Rages

…

Spoilers for Obsession 

…

The determined click of heels on tile of the precinct usually turned heads, and today was no exception, and thirty pairs of eyes abandoned the case reports and interview transcripts, following the luring sway of curvy hips snuggly accentuated by a black wrap around dress, the flared hem skirting around a set of slender calves. Danny Messer had passed by reception only moments before, all his concentration devoted to the case file in his hands, ignorant to the sound of stilettos on the worn floor.

Thirty pairs of eyes watched Melinda DiMontazzoli purse her lips and adjust her dress, revealing the swell of her chest just a bit before calling out to the CSI before her. She'd only been the receptionist at the precinct for a week and a half, but she'd made up her mind about Danny Messer the minute she saw the absence of a wedding band on his left hand.

"Hey, Detective." Lindsay looked up from her desk to watch Danny cringe as the new receptionist caught up to him, throwing him a suggestive smile as she handed him a pile of messages. She flicked a lock of curly, espresso hair over her shoulders, arching her eyebrow at him seductively, her fingers lingering over his for a moment longer than necessary.

"Oh, hey, thanks, Melissa." Danny read through the slips of paper as he continued to make his way through the precinct, turning away from her easily, his attention already caught by the message from his mother. He closed the case file, making his way to his desk, tossing the case file and message slips on the desktop before sliding into his chair and sifting through the paperwork that had accumulated, cluttering his space.

It had been a slow shift. Only one new case had come in, and Mac had assigned Hawkes and Stella, leaving Danny and Lindsay with mounds of paperwork and lots of time to wade their way out of it. She'd never admit it, but Lindsay couldn't help but smile at the thought of spending the entire shift with Danny in her line of sight.

"Cell phone not working, Mr. Congeniality?" he grinned, snorting a laugh as he rolled his eyes.

"Landed on it when Flack and I apprehended the suspect in the Nelson case. Adam said it'd be fine as soon as it dries out."

She listened to the soothing sound of muffled broken Italian as he called his mother back with their desk phone. She should have been startled at how effortlessly the rounded, curvy sounds formed words, tumbling off his lip, salted in his thickened accent.

"…Suona buon. Okay. Sarò sopra intorno cinque, allora. Yeah, yeah. Ti amo, anche."

It made him seem domestic, almost, or worldly, despite the fact that he had lived his entire life inside the borders of the city. She'd only heard him speak in Italian a handful of times, and it continued to fascinate her, disarming him of his rough exterior right before her eyes. She'd be lying if she said it didn't cause a welcome heat below her waist, but she'd never have to own up to it. He frowned at another phone message, crinkling it up and tossing it in the wastebasket by his feet without a second thought.

"Not polite to not return phone calls, Detective." Lindsay ran a hand through her hair, flicking her gaze to the man seated across from her, arching an eyebrow at his smirk.

"I'll take my chances, thanks." He sat back, pushing his delicate frames up the bridge of his nose. "Besides, it's not like Melissa has anything else to do." He nodded toward the reception area, where Melinda was picking at a hangnail.

"Melinda." Lindsay corrected as she turned back to her paperwork, listening to him rummage through the contents of his desk, opening a case file. "Who are you avoiding?"

"Some girl from the Idiot Run. The, ah, dominatrix. Carla." The pink rose in Danny's cheeks faster than Lindsay could smile, and he cleared his throat, turning back to his work. He'd wrapped the Idiot Run case yesterday, while she had been helping Adam with the copious amount of Trace. She hadn't even seen him all shift.

"Dominatrix, huh? That sounds like fun." She was teasing him, but he was glad to see her smile, even if it was at the cost of his dignity.

"I'm not into fun." He signed off on the case report, folding it shut and sifting through another. "Least not the brand she's selling."

The retort was lying in wait on her tongue, but her cell phone rang shrilly, demanding her attention. She frowned, recognizing the Bozeman number on the screen, her amused smile instantly fading as she flipped open the phone.

"Monroe."

_"Detective Monroe, we're going to need you out here earlier than we had originally planned."_ The soft western twang of Bozeman ADA Kevin Donaldson hit her ears, and she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. _"I'm sorry, Lindsay, the defense is makin' a stink about our only witness bein' two thousand miles away. They made a case to the judge about you bein' made-up."_

"How soon?" Danny's eyes snapped up at the waver in her voice, but her hardened expression remained unreadable as she avoided his gentle gaze.

_"Next week at the latest. We thought it'd work for you to just come in for the proceedings, but if we're gonna get the verdict we need you here for the preliminaries."_ There was a tense pause as Lindsay inwardly groaned. She didn't know if she would be able to make it through the trial, and now the possibility of an 'in and out' visit to her home state. Feeling Danny's eyes on her, she looked up, shaking her head to dismiss the concern in the blue of his eyes.

_"Lindsay?"_ Kevin Donaldson pried gently; worried their call had been dropped.

She closed her eyes, gathering her wits about her as quickly as she could, clinging to the unraveled threads of her professionalism. She opened them again, rubbing her temple and resting her elbow on her desk, her gaze falling on the quiet muscle of Danny's arm, peeking out from under his tee shirt. She followed the muscle down his forearm, flexing casually as he scribbled notes in the margin of the file, her eyes falling on his slender hands, working mechanically, moving across the page stiffly. That was all he was. All he had.

It was all she needed.

"Okay."

_"Alright. Preliminary hearings start next Friday, after jury selection. We need you here Thursday at the latest."_

"Sounds good."

_"See you Thursday? We'll have to brief you on your role, bring you up to speed with."_

"Okay. I'll do what I can, thank you."

_"Call when you know flight details, I'll arrange to have someone pick you up."_

"Not necessary, I can handle it."

_"Are you sure?"_

"I hope so." Lindsay hung up, avoiding Danny's curious stare, shuffling through a report she had already finished.

"Everything okay?" His voice was soft, concerned, private, in the bustling, animated precinct. She threw him a forced smile, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear and feigning the ease that she had felt before her phone rang.

"Yeah." It wasn't convincing, and he wasn't buying her act.

"Lindsay?"

"Somedays the battle sucks." The finality in her response told him to drop it. She wasn't ready to explain, and he could understand. He hadn't said anything when she had come to him with the DNA results last spring. But, in due time, he had told her the whole story.

In time, she'd do the same.

…

A/N: I'm sorry, I'm a horrible person with the worst case of writer's block…and this episode was NO help.


	3. Chapter 3

On and On

…

Spoilers for _The Lying Game_

…

Three.

There were three new messages in her voicemail when Lindsay Monroe turned on her cell phone in the middle of Gallatin Field Airport. Punching in her password, she cradled her cell phone against her ear, making her way to baggage claim.

Baggage claim. She couldn't help but smirk. This whole town was baggage for her. The automated woman on the other end recited that she had three new voice messages. The first was ADA Donaldson, with instructions to meet him in his office at the courthouse on South 16th, with a mechanical recitation of directions from the airport. She erased the message halfway through, remembering where to go.

The second message was from Danny, his accent sounded thick in her ear, making her smile as she picked her suitcase off of the conveyer belt.

"_Hey, Montana, I, ah, I wanted to wish you luck, Mac filled me in a bit on the generalities. Listen, we've all been on the stand before, but testifying for people is a lot harder than testifying for evidence. People are unpredictable, unstable. Change their story, cover stuff up. Science never lies. Doesn't have a hidden agenda. No bias. Getcha hands on the forensics reports, look 'em over. Don't worry about the mothers, Lindsay. You're on their side."_ Her eyes watered, blurring her vision only just, and she stopped, setting down her suitcase to wipe at her eyes as Danny's message paused, and she heard the sound of him clearing his throat, and coughing once. He must have been outside. _"Flack's draggin' me to a suspicious circs, I'll call you later."_ She grinned, accepting the comfort that Danny had offered in the brief message he'd left. Her smile dissolved, however, as the voice of her mother invaded her ear.

"_Linds, gimme a call. Me and Dad're lookin' forward to seein' you."_ She rolled her eyes, knowing that her stay at the Watts Lane Farm was going to hopefully be short lived. They hadn't been overly supportive of her move to the East Coast, and she wasn't sure she was ready to handle the inquiries about New York, or the leading questions into the case-sensitive material of the trial ahead of her.

Mostly, though, she didn't want to see the picture hanging in the hall.

Sighing, she glanced at her watch. It was only four in the afternoon in New York, and Danny was probably knee-deep in the 419 with Flack. She'd call him back in a few hours, when her mind had been put to ease by the trial notes, or when her mother glanced at her left hand disapprovingly for the fourteenth time.

The drive down the 209 was neither horrible, nor long, as the airport is only a handful of miles away from the courthouse, and the scenery was a welcome sight after a year and a half of asphalt and high-rises. The winter had been fickle this year, but despite the fact that the ambient temperature was similar to that of the temperature on the streets of New York, the air was thinner, and Lindsay shivered, enjoying the view of snow that managed to remain white once in hit the ground.

Lindsay remembered the Gallatin County Courthouse as a large, cement block, four stories tall, one whole block wide. A daunting, intimidating building with severe angles and darkened, miserable windows in contrast with the drab, colorless cement. It had scared her, years ago when she hadn't started to unravel the secrets and tricks associated with law enforcement.

She entered the building with a passing glance, her heart cracking as the structure seemed to sigh wearily under the weight of her conscious. She smirked, the realization dawning on her that the Spartan brick of a courthouse in her hometown was easily dwarfed by the looming presence of precinct that was home to the lab on back East. She tried to smile, being back in the big sky country was a reminder of how much she had become a New Yorker, how much she belonged in the city.

How much this wasn't her home anymore.

She fingered her cell phone, rotting a hole in her jacket pocket, her jaw set determinedly. She would not unravel within an hour of landing. It was her connection to New York, to her life. The job was real, the lab was real, and this was all just a bad dream that she couldn't shake. Lindsay took a deep breath, knocking softly on Kevin Donaldson's door and swinging it open when she heard him call out a welcome.

Danny Messer groaned as he checked his watch for the third time inside an hour. He had been staring at the same sample of roofing tar for twenty minutes; unable to remember what he was looking for long enough to locate it. He was dangerously close to killing off an entire shift without Lindsay. He was also dangerously close to losing his mind. He straightened, pulling his frames back down to the bridge of his nose, and frowned at the spread of evidence before him. Lindsay's flight would have landed a few hours ago. If she had turned on her phone, she would have already listened to his message.

No.

He was not going to be the long distance stalker. The last thing she needed was his New Yorker mouth distracting her from preparations for testimony. He ran a hand through his hair, fighting off the burning in his chest, the heavy feeling of hurt that she hadn't trusted him with her demons. That she had insisted on shouldering her dark past on her own. Danny took a deep breath, shedding his lab coat and abandoning his evidence in search of a cup of the strong coffee that had been burning in the decanter in the break room for the last few hours.

Silently he prayed for a swift trial, for her sanity, and his.

Danny had almost made it to the break room when his cell phone began to ring. He didn't bother to look at the screen as his flipped it open, cradling the phone against his ear as he made his way to the cabinet.

"Messer." He swung open one of the cabinet doors, his fingers gently pushing aside a few mugs to find his own.

"_Hey."_ Lindsay sat in her rental car in the parking lots of the courthouse, unable to keep her tears at bay.

"Lindsay?" Danny all but dropped the mug in his hand, frowning at her brokenhearted tone. "Hey, how was your flight?"

"_Um, good. I just, I just needed to hear your voice."_ She cringed, knowing he would pick up on her free admission of vulnerability. Danny's hoarse chuckle hit her ear softly, and she smiled, leaning back against the headrest, staring absently at the steering wheel.

"You wanna talk about it?" Danny moved around the kitchen area of the break room, wedging his phone between his shoulder and his cheek, pouring thick blackened coffee into his mug.

"_It, ah, it's just a lot, you know? All at once."_

"Catches up with you, then knocks you out."

"_Yeah." _Her voice continued to shake, and he frowned, wanting nothing more than pull her into a hug until everything was over.

"Country boys at the court house treatin' you alright?" His timbre was lighter, and she smiled, rubbing away her tears.

"_Like I'm some big-shot New Yorker."_ She could hear him laugh, and take a sip of what she assumed was coffee.

"That's m'girl." He mumbled, grinning into the phone. "Bring a little city to the game, this guy'll rot in a nine by nine for the rest of his life."

"_I just, I wish I wasn't so far from home."_ Danny cocked an eyebrow, fighting off a mixture of a pleased smile and the shattering of his heart. He listened to her try to hide a sniffle, and inhale a shaky breath. He rubbed at his eyes wearily, groaning softly.

"Don't let them make you forget that you're a cop, Linds."

"_Because I bear such a resemblance to Dennis Franz."_ He relaxed against the counter, hearing her sarcastic jibe.

"But the badge you got is real. It says New York on it, Montana. Don't let them run you around." There was a streak of vindication in his voice, and she nodded, knowing he was giving her sound advice.

"_I just feel like I'm a kid all over. Like I'm tripping over the forensics, I can't get their faces out of my head. I just never thought I'd be sifting through this stuff ever again. I'm not ready, I can't do it."_

"These victims, Linds, they need you. This guys been runnin' around for ten years, yeah, but you're ten years older now, and ten years smarter, and instead'a cookin' dinners you've been cookin' theories, and I've seen you take down suspects. Seen you not so much as flinch in the courtroom with the scumbags we round up back here." Danny took a deep breath, blinking away the evidence of tears in his eyes as he continued, speaking softly into the phone. "Listen, to everyone else, it's just another case. Another witness, another day at the office. You care about these people, Lindsay, but you're still seeking justice. Fight for it. You were the only one there. You're the only one who can."

"_Thanks, Dan."_ She sounded small, quiet, and Danny cringed, hearing her self confidence crumble. After a moment, she changed the subject. _"What're you working on?" _

"Well, I got a piece a' roofin' tar that's been givin' me a run for my money. Could use a second opinion." Danny grabbed his mug, taking a sip of his coffee as he made his way through the lab, filling her in as he went.


	4. Chapter 4

The Soldier's Wife

…

Spoilers for _Some Buried Bones_

…

He couldn't help but think it.

Lying dejectedly on his couch, the Rangers game on mute, Danny frowned, almost sorry his case had wrapped as quickly as it did. He could definitely use the distraction. Instead, he had had one of those rare shifts that ended on time, with nowhere to go but home. He rolled over onto his stomach, pulling his glasses from his nose and tossing them onto the coffee table, rubbing at his eyes before abandoning the façade of relaxation and climbing to his feet.

His gaze shifted from the display of Madison Square Garden on the television to the cell phone sitting silently beside his glasses. He made his way to the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm, a fleeting attempt to scratch his thoughts from his consciousness. That path was neither constructive nor healthy. Snatching a bottle of water from the refrigerator, he slammed the door shut, causing the jar of mustard to topple over from the jolt. Moving back into his living room, he stood with his shins against his coffee table, peering down at his phone before taking a long swig, letting ice-cold water chill through him.

For a moment, he wondered if this was some sort of divine retribution, courtesy of his favorite Brooklynite. God, he was such a girl. He could almost hear her laughing at him. Tears came at him from nowhere, hitting him square in the chest with a heavy pressure that knocked the wind from his lungs, and he crumpled into the couch, forcing himself to find control. No matter how badly he needed Aidan's advice, he was on his own.

Danny leaned forward, retrieving his glasses and shoving them back on his face, pocketing his cell phone and grabbing his keys. There was no way he'd clear his head in his tiny storage closet of an apartment. It was going to be one of those days where the closest to sleep he'd get would be tossing and turning if he was lucky.

Two and a half hours later, Danny trudged along the far end of the Brooklyn Bridge. He never liked the East River. It smelt like the shower drain at the lab, and he'd recovered one too many bodies from the black of it to appreciate it as anything more than a perpetual dumpsite.

He cleared his throat, coughing once against his fist as he moved easily in the sparse crowds of New Yorkers and tourists enjoying the view of Manhattan, sparkling majestically against the black of the wee hours. He ignored the tense, dull ache of his muscles, refusing to admit to himself that he'd walked clear into another borough. He was nowhere closer to chasing the image from his mind now than he was hours before. He only hoped Stella had missed it. When they'd caught their thief, for a split second, he didn't see Ava Brandt. He'd seen a pregnant brunette.

Well, no. He'd seen a _particular_ brunette. Pregnant.

Oh God, there it was again.

He closed his eyes, willing it away, but it only came in clearer. Lindsay Monroe standing on a street corner, running a hand over a very pregnant bump, telling Stella that they decided to keep the sex of the baby a surprise.

Men from Staten Island did not daydream of having babies. Men from anywhere did not daydream of having babies. It had snuck up on him, really. The shoplifting disguise had caught him off guard. Suddenly he was angry at the state of Montana for being so far away.

He was losing it without her.

Danny frowned at the spot where they'd laid out the mermaid, almost a year ago, making his way noncommittally to the railing, running a hand through his hair tiredly. Calling her was out of the question. She needed space. She had asked for space. It was four in the morning in Bozeman.

It was too late, he already had his phone out, his thumb posed precariously over the six, threatening to activate speed dial. Quickly, he snapped it shut, groaning with frustration. His gaze drifted, leaving him with his thoughts, settling on the young couple a few yards away. A blonde snuggled into a NYU sweatshirt, and her companion, kneeling, wearing a beat up old baseball hat bearing the insignia of Hudson University.

Kids.

And the glittering lights of the city made the diamond he held out to her sparkle almost as much as her smile.

He had at least ten years on them, and the only diamond he had ever bought was for his mother when he signed with the Cubs. Danny opened his phone again, pressing his thumb to the camera option instead, avoiding speed dial. Shaking off the creeping sensation he got from giving off the air of a tourist, he raised the piece of technology to eye level, squinting as he held it out at arm's length, framing the Manhattan skyline, and pressing down, capturing the image. He leaned back over the railing, shifting his weight and damning his pride as he typed in his message, hitting the six, and send before he could stop himself. It was a moment of weakness, but he had a feeling they both needed it.

Two thousand miles away, Lindsay Monroe was about ready to give up the battle for any sort of rest. She hadn't been sleeping well, and she hadn't been sleeping just then, worried about the preliminaries, the forensic evidence she'd be listening to in a few hours. When the crime was fresh, the science had meant nothing to her. Now, however, it was everything. Lindsay rolled over in her covers, reacting to the soft beep of her phone, indicating a text. She flipped open her phone, hitting 'yes.' She couldn't help but grin as she recognized the Manhattan skyline on her tiny screen, and she couldn't help the tears as she read Danny's message that followed.

_miss you_


	5. Chapter 5

Cries in the Night

…

Spoilers for _Heart of Glass_

…

Danny Messer needed a cigarette.

He'd been in denial for three days, but he wasn't stupid. He hadn't been able to shake the telltale jittery sensation, the sting of a headache that should have waned three aspirins ago. He'd snapped at more uniforms today than he had pictures, and he'd processed three scenes since clocking in. As he leaned over the side of the tub, scraping a gloved hand along the bottom, sifting through the bloody water, he set his jaw in a hard grimace, fighting off a wave of nausea. He wasn't sure if it was the coppery stench or his body remembering it had been without nicotine for almost ten years.

Or it might have been the dawning realization that his boss was shacking up with the M.E. Not that he wasn't happy for Mac. Recovering from Claire's death had been an elongated, ongoing process, for everyone. The city was still recovering, years later. The Mac he had been hired under would have frowned upon an interoffice romance, but then again, women had a tendency to change men, even if they didn't mean to.

Soften their hearts, or their heads, or something. Or get under their skin and plague their thoughts and distract them from everything and break down their defenses and pummel their hearts. Danny cringed, closing his eyes and visibly pushing straying thoughts of Lindsay out of his mind. God, he wanted a smoke.

He glanced at the lipstick message on the mirror against the wall, the letters daring him to give in to distraction, and his thoughts strayed to Lindsay until his fingers hit pay dirt in the form of an expended round. Plucking the bullet fragment out, Danny cringed, remembering there was no indication that the victim died of a gunshot wound. He frowned, taking in the obvious overtones the victim had set.

Fucking Valentine's Day.

"If you're going to stand there, you might as well gimme a hand, Sparky." Jeb Monroe didn't have to look at his daughter to know she was lingering in the doorway of the barn, already dressed to appear in court. "Hold the board steady, will yah? Mind the grease, there." Jeb paused from his work, dipping his hand into a tub of oily goo on the table beside him and greasing the rawhide. At his delegation of a task, she accepted the excuse for entering the barn, flopping down on the bench, gripping the board, countering her father's pull as he twisted and weaved the thin strips of hide.

Lindsay's father continued to work in silence, paying his only daughter no outward sign of attention, instead listening to her troubled sigh. It broke his heart to see her struggle to uphold her calm, collected front. Even broken, weary, and troubled as she was, she looked stunning, dressed in black slacks and a gray sweater that slimmed her already tiny figure, her curly, wild hair carefully straightened, hanging long below her shoulders, her dark coat making Montana winters look pleasant.

The city looked good on her, though he'd take that particular opinion to his grave. He hadn't wanted her to go, but the haunted expression in her eyes had become so heavy that it had clouded the laughter, dulling the sparkle, breaking her soul. Every crime she had worked on in town she had pulled to shreds, searching for answers with the fervor of a guilty conscious.

He knew she had been searching for the man they had on trial. Not finding him, she'd settled for finding other people's villains instead. It was an honest living, and she was good at it. A drifter, the man who'd almost slaughtered his daughter had only stayed in Bozeman for a few weeks, but it had been more than enough to terrorize the community for years. He glanced up at her from the braid, noting the tired, troubled expression she was trying to hide from him. Several minutes of silence passed between them, save for the creaking of the strips of hide in his hands. When Jeb Monroe finally spoke, his words were quiet, simple.

"Got a lot on your mind?" He continued to work the hide, pulling at the braid with considerable force, which she countered with an instinctive ease.

"Yeah." She wasn't in a talking mood. She rarely was with him; they had been at odds with each other since she moved out east. He braided another inch or so, rubbing on his homemade grease expertly before trying again.

"Your mother's worried."

"I know." Lindsay frowned, holding the board with her knees and leaning over the top, watching him work.

"I don't have to tell her anything." Lindsay's father leaned over to the table, reaching for his awl, squinting as he picked out an imperfection with the sharp end, adjusting the rawhide before yanking the strips tightly.

"But I should."

"I didn't say that." Jeb Monroe threw his daughter a rough, weatherworn smirk. "What do those New Yorkers say? _We're just talkin' here."_ He set down the awl, and picked up his pliers, twisting the rawhide. "You look bushed is all, and I can't figure if it's from the court room or the fresh air."

"Haven't been sleeping."

She didn't want to talk about it. Didn't want to tell him about the forensic testimony she had to listen to, it was difficult enough to learn the gruesome, intricate details of each of her dear friends' injuries, never mind the slideshows of their brain matter splattered across the vibrant, cheery colors of the tile floor.

Kellie Kennedy's deadened eyes staring up at her from the floor had rotted a hole in her conscious, and now, having seen it displayed in the context of forensic analysis. Sarah Graham's body slumped over by the register in a pool of darkened blood. She had always had the stench of copper in her memory, fighting off the after effects of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder even at crime scenes back East. She could still hear Rachel Foley's body slide off the slick vinyl of the booth and fall with a dead thud as she dialed 911.

Mostly, though, she didn't want him to know that she was homesick for New York.

"Gonna kick off early if you keep runnin' yourself like that." Jeb frowned, pulling against the board again, his fingers working the rawhide mechanically. He almost heard his baby daughter roll her eyes.

"You sound like Mom."

"Your mother's a smart woman, Sparky." He grunted softly, tightening the line and rubbing in more grease. "What time they starting down at the court house?"

"'Bout an hour." She sighed, resting her chin on her arms across the top of the board like she did when she was young. His heart broke, seeing her dressed up like an adult, teary like a child. He saw her falter only for a moment, regaining composure and willing away any outward sign of grief. "Mom was humming in the shower this morning." Lindsay tried her best attempt at a grin, causing her father to smile.

"We got a standing date down by the crick. Built a little patio out there 'bout a year ago. Your dumb-as-shit brother rigged up a space heater for the field, brought it down. Had a nice dinner." At Lindsay's raised eyebrow, he shrugged. "Your mother's got a thing about Valentine's Day, you know that. And-"

"And cowboys are the most romantic breed of man, yes, I know." She smiled faintly, pleasing her father. The delicate ring of her cell phone caught her attention, and she pulled it out of her coat pocket, her features softening as she read the name on the caller ID, offering an excuse to her father. "Sorry, he forgets that there are different time zones." Jeb cocked an eyebrow at his daughter as she flipped open the phone, answering with what he referred to as her 'big city scientist' voice.

"Monroe." She reached over on the table, plucking his grimy, well-loved, empty thermos off the table as she easily broke into an amused smile, telling the voice on the line to hold on as she spoke to him. "I'll getcha a refill." He nodded, mumbling his thanks as she stood, climbing off the bench and making her way to the house.

"_Mac and Peyton. Spill."_

"You didn't know?"

"_Even Flack knows. Why am I always last?"_

"I thought you were a CSI, Dan." She teased him, smiling. "You didn't notice?"

"_Well I did when they showed up to my crime scene halfway through a date."_ She laughed, cradling the phone in the crook of her shoulder as she swung open the back door to the house, moving around her parents' kitchen to the half empty coffee maker.

"Oh, Danny, I'm sorry." She clearly wasn't, however, as she continued to laugh. "I try to avoid the lab tech gossip."

"_But you knew."_

"There's no avoiding Stella." She smiled, hearing him chuckle into the phone before sobering only just.

"_When's court?"_

"An hour." She poured hot, black coffee into the thermos, biting her lip.

"_What's the testimony on?"_

"Ah, the forensic evidence." She spoke carefully, twisting the cap back on her father's thermos, making an attempt to hide the waver in her tone, but he was too well versed in her tells.

"_Ah'right."_ He gave a thoughtful sigh, making up his mind quickly. _"Ah'right, lemme distract you, for a few minutes, then. You sound like you could use a little New York." _She smiled at his thickened accent, and his straightforwardness. He must be tired. Must have pulled a double.

"You have no idea, cowboy."


	6. Chapter 6

Our Lives on 'Pause'

…

Spoilers for _The Ride In_

…

"It smells like ass in there." Flack didn't hide the grimace as he stepped out into fresher air, coming to stand beside Mac Taylor as animal control officers boarded the ark, ironically, two by two. The older man cast a disinterested stare as one of the officers struggled, handling a stubborn llama. "The one time we have a case with copious amounts of livestock, and our resident country girl is out of state." Mac nodded as he sighed, taking in the scene.

"Definitely could have used Lindsay on this one."

"If only to settle down Mr. Brooding Intensity over there." Flack nodded in Danny's general direction where he was shifting his weight uncomfortably, rubbing at his eyes, then at the back of his neck in an agitated manner. "How long has he been fidgetin' like that?"

"Week, maybe two." Mac shrugged; frowning at his CSI, concern making a brief appearance across his features before shifting his weight and surveying the manhandling of the drawbridge door with a critical eye. "I called Hawkes, had him switch the coffee in the break room to decaf."

It was almost ten hours later when Danny leaned against the railing that encircled the roof of the crime lab, cupping his hand to shield himself from the crisp breeze as his thumb flicked the roll of the cheap lighter, creating a tiny flame. He couldn't believe it had come to this; lapsing back into self-destructive habits to ease the unrelenting anxiety. He shifted the cigarette between his teeth, touching the end to the flame, and inhaled, lighting the end.

He took a slow, even drag, closing his eyes and surrendering to the wave of relief that crested over him, pulling the cigarette away with his index finger and his thumb, turning it over in his hand as he exhaled, a stream of shadowy white lazily making it's way into the wind. He wasn't sure what he was thinking; he probably should have stolen a whole pack from Hawkes' experiment. One smoke was definitely not going to cut the edge. It had been hours since his case had hit a snag, and he had slipped out, in dire need of a few breaths of cold air in his lungs.

And maybe a little tar, as well.

He wedged the butt of the cigarette between his lips again, casting his gaze out along the glittery, sparkling lights that defined the Manhattan skyline after hours, willing the nicotine to work its charm on his nerves. It tasted like shit, just like he remembered, and he could almost feel the tar and ash adhere themselves to his teeth. He had only had three perfect smokes in his life, and after so many years of steering clear, he had hoped that this would make it four. No such luck.

He plucked the cigarette from his mouth again, exhaling mechanically as he tapped the end, jostling free the ashes in a practiced manner. Vaguely, he heard the door to the roof open, and shut again quietly, but he ignored it, bringing the butt up again for another hit. The nicotine did nothing to the tension in his shoulders, and he cringed, disappointed. This was not worth the three to five minutes of his natural lifespan it was costing him. He supposed it didn't really matter, though; odds were the job would kill him anyway, and if it wasn't the work, it was the girl two thousand miles away.

God, he was such a mess.

Danny didn't acknowledge Stella beside him, but he recognized the sound of her heels against the cement, and the earthy scent of her shampoo as she leaned against the railing. After a moment, she realized he wasn't going to speak, so carefully, she broke the silence.

"Are you _smoking_, Messer?"

"Nah. Osmosis." His deadpan made her start to laugh, and she stifled it quickly as he brought the butt of the cigarette up to his lips again, leaving it there as he ran a hand through his hair dejectedly, making it spike in a tousled manner.

"Haven't seen you with one of those in a long time." Her heart shattered at his defeated sigh.

"Haven't had one in years." He mumbled through the cigarette, taking slow, cautious drag. "Just tryin'a settle my nerves." She smiled slyly; having a vague understanding of what this was really all about.

"How's that working?" She turned, leaning back against the railing, turning her head to study his profile as he broke into a small smile.

"Not s'well. I think I got one'a your green smokes. There's definitely not enough nicotine in this thing." Stella smirked at his words, noting the weight of his accent and his weary, drained features. She turned toward him, rubbing a hand along his neck, attempting to alleviate the knot between his shoulders. He groaned appreciatively, watching the cigarette burn between his fingers for several minutes, willing the ache in his heart to subside.

"You wanna talk about it?" Her words were soft against the biting New York wind, but he shook his head, blowing out the end of his last drag in a sigh before rubbing the butt against the cement ledge and tossing it over the side of the building with a mechanical flick. She assumed the nicotine had made its way to his bloodstream, as his visible agitation waned slightly. He pursed his lips, taking in the skyline, battling with himself over what to hang on his sleeve. "C'mon, Danny. Let me help with the load." She wrapped an arm around his waist, splaying her fingers along the small of his back.

He smiled, pushing his glasses up the slope of his nose with his knuckle, leaning on his forearms against the railing, hanging his head for only a moment. He was running dangerously short on sanity and good judgment, a lethal combination in a town like this one. Danny shrugged, coughing out a laugh, embarrassed. In his years in the crime lab, he had never been able to lie to Stella, and he didn't have the strength to start now.

"High profile murder cases. They can drag on for months." He cringed, fighting back the break in his resolve. "I don't know if I can make it."

"This is about -"

"I know. I got it bad." He stood, leaning against the railing, turning to face her, but his eyes found the cement by their feet instead. "Don't tell Mac, alright? I already get the shit-eating grin from Flack."

As she pulled him into a companionable hug, Stella laughed.


	7. Chapter 7

The Sailor and The Nurse

…

Spoilers for _Sleight Out of Hand_

…

"-And I ask that you find the defendant, Daniel Cadence, guilty of Murder in the First Degree. Take a good look at Sarah Graham's father. Emily Norton's mom and dad. Kellie Kennedy's parents. Rachel Foley's nieces and nephews. Look at Lindsay Monroe. They've suffered too long already. All I ask, we ask, is that you, the jury, put this man behind bars where he belongs. You alone have the power to end the nightmare Daniel Cadence has caused."

The formalities that are recited as the jury is excused to deliberation were white noise in Danny Messer's ear. As the jury filed out, Danny stood, placing his hand at the small of Lindsay's back, taking a step closer to her as the man in the gray suit turned in the officers' grasp, sneering in Lindsay's direction. Briefly he saw the panic flick through her, the fear Daniel Cadence had caused burning in her eyes.

Lindsay felt Danny move his hand from the small of her back to her shoulder, kneading her tense muscles for only a second, refocusing her attention to him, distracting her from the daunting hatred across the room. He was safe. Home. She'd been struggling, drowning in country. He was enough city to keep her grounded. The quiet worry in his eye kept her from losing herself.

"Let's get some air." His accent was thick against her ear, and she nodded, smiling faintly. He pushed open the door of the courtroom, shoving his hand in his pocket, flashing her a reassuring smile as her fingers curled around his bicep securely. They had almost made it out of the corridor when a man called out to Lindsay, stopping her in her tracks.

A lean man in his early forties waved, jogging a few steps to catch up to them. Danny saw the hesitant recognition smattered across her features, and she made a few careful steps back toward him, walking from Danny's grasp to the other man's embrace. Danny adjusted the frames of his glasses, crossing his arms over his chest, watching Lindsay untangle herself from the man before stepping up to him. She reached for him, offering him an apology in the form of a kindly smile.

"This is my partner, Danny Messer." Lindsay spoke politely to the other man before turning to him. "Dan, This is Rachel Foley's brother, Jeff." Danny stepped closer, offering the older man his hand.

"Nice t'meet you." Danny regarded Jeff Foley with a somber expression, feeling Lindsay's fingers along his side; intimate, but discreet. "I'm sorry about your sister." Lindsay watched as Jeff Foley regarded Danny with a steely, unsure expression.

"Thank you, Detective." Jeff Foley glanced at Lindsay, as he ran a hand through his blonde hair. "You're from New York." It was a statement more than anything, but Danny nodded.

"Staten Island."

"Here I was thinking Lindsay had an accent." There was the faintest hint of a smile grazing Jeff's features. "Being her partner, you've got her back out there, in the streets?" Lindsay started to protest, but Danny understood where Jeff was going.

"Mostly she's got mine."

"Thank you for keeping her safe. Without her testimony, there wouldn't have been a conviction. So Mr. Donaldson tells us." The tears flooded his eyes quickly, and he turned to Lindsay, hugging her again, fiercely before excusing himself, shaking Danny's hand again cordially before making his way back down the corridor. Danny slipped a hand along her shoulder, kneading the tension at the base of her neck gently, allowing for her to slide easily into his embrace, taking care to not to grip her too tightly, listening to her resolve break.

"I'm sorry." She mumbled into his shoulder, but he only pressed a kiss to her hair in response.

"S'okay. I got you." He waited for her to regain control over her feelings before pulling away to catch her eye, brushing a tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. "This place got a back door, Monroe?" She smiled, rubbing her eyes and nodding.

" Yeah. Through there." She gestured to the door marked 'Maintenance' at the end of the hall. At his amused smirk, she rolled her eyes. "The CSOs like to mess with the Prosecutors. Long story."

Hours later, Lindsay felt Danny's concerned gaze on her as she slowed her father's archaic truck to a stop.

"This some country ritual?" Danny arched an eyebrow at Lindsay as she pushed the shifter of the beat up pick-up truck into first, yanking up the emergency break with a practiced ease and killing the engine. She smiled faintly at him, wrapping her hand securely around the thermos that had sat between them on the seat, swinging open the driver's side door and jumping out.

"Something like that." He chuckled as she shut the door, moving out of his line of sight towards the back of the truck. He followed, gathering the few thick, worn blankets she had pilfered from the hall closet in her parents' house, climbing out of the passenger side. He leaned over the siding of the truck bed, an amused grin hanging on his jaw as he watched her scale the other side, taking a moment to settle his concerns about the after burn of the trial.

She had thrown her wavy curls into a haphazard ponytail, had emerged from her childhood bedroom donning worn out jeans and a University of Montana hoodie only an hour before. He leaned against the side of the truck, watching her lay out the heavier of the blankets, arranging the contents of the old pick-up to be more conducive to two adults. Danny smiled softly, relieved to see her relaxing, of only a bit. When she had finished, Lindsay straightened, smirking at him.

"If you're gonna see a wheat field, Messer, you might as well do it like a local." She nodded her head toward the bed of the truck. "Dan?" For the first time, Danny glanced out past the far end of the truck bed, noticing the short cliff, and below it, what he assumed was about a dozen or so acres of what would have been wheat stalks, had they not been out in February. Fortunately, it had been a mild winter, and the sun was burning flat into the horizon, emanating a fiery pink and orange hue.

Whoa.

"Do I need to show you how to climb up on a wheel well?" There was a hint of teasing in her voice that he hadn't heard in months, causing him to grin.

"Nah, we got pick-ups out on the Island, Monroe." He climbed over the side easily, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose as he sat down beside her, relaxing against the soft, worn wool and the back of the cabin, casting his gaze out to the sunset. Lindsay watched as he kicked off his shoes, pushing them against the siding. He caught her confused gaze, breaking into a gentle grin.

"What're you doing?"

"When in Rome." He shrugged, resting the back of his head against the cool metal, letting her soft laugh ease his nerves. It was just the two of them. No city. No crime scenes. No reputations. They didn't have to be Detectives Messer and Monroe with the NYPD. For the first time in a handful of months, he was finally able to breathe.

He didn't bother stopping the lopsided grin that had spread across his features as she took a hold of his hand, gripping his fingers snugly with hers. He'd fallen in love with the feel of her hand in his, even after such a short time. They sat in the back of the truck in comfortable silence, taking in the view. After a few minutes, Danny spoke again, quietly.

"You alright?" Her fingers rubbed against his a few times, and he tightened his grip.

"Yeah." She sighed, pulling his hand to come to rest against her stomach, leaning against his arm. Danny's gaze didn't stray from the setting sun as he responded, moving his fingers to her thigh, touching idly along a few inches of the inseam of her jeans. She let go of his hand, curling each of hers around his bicep and his elbow, leaning in to him companionably. Finally, he tore his gaze away from the field, pressing a delicate kiss to her hair.

"I'm proud of you."

"I was terrified." She mumbled into the sleeve of his jacket, tugging at his heart.

"You did well."

"Thank you." The quiet, even tone of her voice wavered, and he shifted to catch her eye. "You know, for coming."

"I was losin' my mind, Linds. I didn't want to lose you, too." His accent thickened gently, making her smile, his words pulling at her heart. She began to retort, but he threw her an amused smirk, and leaned back again, turning his attention back to the wheat field, his fingers returning to her thigh. "You know, I've never actually been in the back of a pick-up before."

"Really." He bit back a chuckle at the amusement in her voice. "That I don't buy."

"God honest truth. We city folk tend to stick to backseats and dingy hotel rooms." She laughed, and he ran his thumb over the inseam of her jeans nonchalantly.

"No sunset in that."

"No wheat fields, either." The husky quality of his voice along with the even, slight heat of his hand made her shiver against his side. He sat up, leaning over her, reaching across her body and untangling one of the extra blankets, spreading the worn, faded fabric to cover both their bodies. He abandoned the blanket at the feel of her fingers at the base of his neck, twisting to give her his full attention. "I thought you were cold." His grin widened as she shook her head, curls escaping in stands and tendrils from her lazy ponytail.

He reached over, pushing a stray curl from her face and meeting her gaze for a split second before turning away, reaching over her body again, lacing his fingers in hers, and bringing their hands to rest in her lap, his knuckles against the waist band of her jeans. Danny leaned down, pressing a slow, delicate kiss to the back of her hand, his goatee scratching her skin lightly. He gripped her fingers tightly, succumbing to the feel of her hand in his hair, leaning his forehead against hers.

"I won't set the pace, Linds." He lowered his voice to a whisper, pulling away just enough to search her expression for hesitancy. She bit her lip, watching as the blue of his eyes darkened, a deep royal in the shadows of the cadenza of the sunset behind them.

"Okay." She curled her fingers around his neck, pulling him to her, touching her lips to his in a softened display of affection. He returned her pressure, shifting and running his tongue along her lips and parting them, waiting for her to give him permission. She shook her fingers free of his, cradling his unshaven jaw with both hands, deepening their kiss, sitting up to meet him. She felt him pull away, only to turn his kisses south, along the underside of her jaw for only a moment before pulling back again, kissing her sweetly before trying to speak against her.

"Linds-"

"We're in the business of discovering truths, Danny. Our secrets were bound to surface sometime." He gave a short laugh, her reasoning putting him at ease. Suddenly, her eyes widened, and she frowned at him. "Does Mac know you're out here?"

"Kill the mood, Montana." He groaned, sitting up and adjusting his glasses on his nose. "I had the day off. He sent me home. I called out for tomorrow when I landed, but I didn't want to jinx anything."

"Superstitious."

"Baseball player."

"You look tired." She spoke quietly as she sifted a hand through his hair, smiling faintly as he reacted instantly, leaning into her touch.

"I've been on a steady diet'a double shifts, while you've been out."

"I'm sorry, I know I had to leave short notice-"

"Nah, we had shift covered. I just." He paused, finding he words as the last bits of sunlight disappearing behind the empty stubbles of last spring's crop of wheat. "Had to stay busy." He smiled sheepishly at her, the tinge of pink in his cheeks evident, despite the darkened sky. Danny sat back again, unable to stop the worried frown from gracing his features as he nodded his head to the side, silently asking for contact long overdue. He was surprised at how easily she fit into him.

Lindsay climbed dejectedly into his lap, melting into him, laying her head in the crook of his neck. He made it so easy to love him, without ever meaning to. She curled an arm around the small of his back, stifling a small smile as he shifted, leaning one knee along her back, the other resting over her thigh, shielding her from everything with a casual strength she'd become addicted to. She watched the gentle, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, thankful that he had come. Her fingers idly traced the skin of his abdomen, feeling the muscles react beneath her touch.

Danny wrapped an arm around Lindsay's shoulders, content to carry out the rest of his life in the back of Jeb Monroe's dusty old pick-up truck. He reached over her small frame, pulling the faded woolen blanket tighter around her as even the faintest stars in the country sky started to become visible. He wanted nothing more than to flip her on her back, drench her in kisses, convince her that the affection he felt for her was real, that he'd never leave her.

That she could trust him.

"What do we do back home?" She mumbled, snuggling closer as the wind blew. There it was. He'd been wondering it himself. The city was a part of what they had, whether they wanted it to be or not. He chuckled, realizing it was the second time he'd heard her call his city home.

"I don't think Mac'll have a moral issue or anything." He smiled, feeling her soft laugh barrel through his body, causing a warm pressure in his chest. After a moment, he pried gently. "What did you have in mind?" He leaned his head away from hers, catching her eye.

"I don't know." She sounded strained, and he recognized the beginning stages of worry flake across her face.

"It's okay, Linds. We can say whatever we want, whenever we're ready." He cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses before covering her hand with his. "We don't hafta say anything at all."

"Let's go with that one." Lindsay's words were muffled against his chest, making him smile, tightening his grip on her fingers, nodding in agreement.

"I don't think it matters where we are. Your hand will always fit in mine."


End file.
